The Five Stages of Sleeping with Peter
by THECURSOR
Summary: So you just slept with the cute scientist, be sure to expect these five stages afterwards. A finale to my "Frustration" Series. COMPLETE, thanks to wjobssessed for putting a rush on the whole thing.
1. Prolouge

**The Five Stages of Sleeping With Peter**

By THECURSOR

I own Nothing

_I think this'll be the grand finale to the Frustration Series, the 3 previous stories can be found on FFN and are called "Best Cheese Steaks in the World", "What Not to Think When Examining Giant Shrimp", and "What Kind of Name is Astrid?"_

_Also, writing drunk speak is hard._

* * *

**Prolouge-**

"Never let it be schaid I welch on my betsch." Peter muttered as he stumbled into the apartment placing the scented oil on the coffee table in front of the couch and taking another long draw out of the bottle of tequila. "I promisched you a massage and you'll get one."

"I toldsch you, I don't like cheesche schteaks." Olivia's words spilled from her mouth in a sloppy mess that only barely resembled English. "I'm taking my schirt owff, scho dwon't look." And then, as if completely ignoring the words she just said, Olivia began unbuttoning her shirt right in front of him to reveal a health chest unburned by undergarments. Peter paused for a moment, letting his drunken brain register that a barrier was about to be broken. "I schaid dwon't look!"

"I'm notsch!" Peter said as he continured to blatently leer at Olivia's naked chest. "If swe're doing thisch, you schould lie done." She complied, spreading a towel on the coffee table and spreading out in a long buffet of supple skin.

They were both drunk, a consequence from celebrating their first official non-Pattern related case (it turns out giant shrimp are a perfectly natural phenomenon with the right amount of pollution, experimental growth hormones, and sea water) and right now they were in no position to make responsible choices.

One thing had led to another. Dinner led to drinks, Drinks led to Peter telling her about a fairly wild party across town (god knows how he found out about it.), the party (and more drinks) led to…more drinks, which lead to an argument about keys or monks (or was it monkeys), that lead to a bet about more drinks which lead to Olivia complaining that she never got her massage and Peter remembering.

Now they were here, in Olivia's apartment on a night when her sister and niece were somewhere else. Hopefully 'somewhere' was far away because this was not a side of "Responsible Auntie Liv" Olivia wanted either of them to see. Peter was spreading the heated oils across her naked body, giving her the sensation of an inner fire boiling over deep with in her.

The drinking had killed the little voices, silenced all the terrible things that had been running through her head for weeks now and finally she had some level of inner peace. A wonderful oblivion where only the here and now was important. "Mmm…yer handsch feelz nische."

Peter let the oil glide under his fingers, alternating a light pressure with a hard push, giving pleasure and taking pain. He moved further and further up the skin on her, giving her a chance to feel every movement of his finger tips as they walked the length of her spine.

"You have…a lot of tenschion…in your, uh, back parts."

"Isch that a scien…a scien…a sciencey turm?"

"Nope." He whispered, "Maybe it's a law enforcey turm."

"Nope."

His hands had just barely met the top of her back when Olivia suddenly rolled over, revealing the beautiful sight of her naked chest. She was still drunk, they were both still drunk, but Peter didn't hear slurred words and inebriated speech. He just heard the wonderful sound of Olivia Dunham.

"Maybe you and I can come up with some new terms together." It was an illusion, of course, Olivia didn't sound like that after having six tequilas and a mixed drink of dubious quality but he didn't care. She leaned forward and thrust her naked chest against him until he could feel her flesh pressing into the fabric of his t-shirt.

A sick feeling brought Peter to the edge of quitting. He couldn't do this, this was Olivia, his 'Liv. She was still hurting from John, still in pain from being betrayed. Wouldn't this just make it hurt more? "Wait, waitsch…maybesch thisch isn't a gud eye-dea-"

But there wasn't time to complete the sentence. Her lips crushed against his and soon they didn't care what was and wasn't a good idea. They couldn't do anything but feel the cascade of feelings and smells and tastes and sweat. Peter had dreamed about this, wished on falling stars for something like this. Of all the women in the world, this one was perfect and never going anywhere.

Somewhere in the distance, Peter worried about the consequences but very close by, Olivia didn't care. They made love for hours, nearly to the point of physical collapse. Breathing became ragged, fingernails stratched across his back and teeth bit hard into the nape of her neck. They outlasted the coffee table, which shattered under the weight of their affection. They outlasted the couch, which tore a spring from motion it wasn't designed for.

Only the bed seemed made to hold them…and it did until they blacked out in a heap.

To Be Continued...


	2. Stage One

**Stage One- Denial (ex: "This isn't happening! It can't be happening.")**

_'Wakey, wakey, Liv.'_, said the nagging little voice inside of Olivia Dunham, _'You did a dumb thing last night and it's time to pay the piper.'_

She didn't want to open her eyes, the cluster headache in the center of her head threatened to split open her skull if she dared to allow light to actually hit the rods and cones. Slowly but surely, Olivia decided there was no way she could take the day off and ignored the horrible pain as she raised herself off the bed.

Her blood ran cold when she heard the pleasing sound of Peter's voice whispering in her ear. "Hey there sleepy head."

Olivia's eyes opened to the size of saucers and she sat bolt up right. Silently she prayed for it to just be a dream but the feel of his hand rubbing her naked thigh certainly didn't feel like a dream. _'This is very real,'_ the little voice said, _'Last night, you hit that.'_

Suddenly the room started to spin and her breath came in ragged gasps. This couldn't be happening! _'Oh but it is.'_ Shut up.

"Olivia…are you okay?" She felt Peter sitting up beside her and felt him press his arms around her in a loving embrace, bare skin was touching bare skin, his chest was touching her back, and below their waistlines her backside was touching his…don't go there.

_'Too late.'_ SHUT UP!

Olivia had to resist the urge to oogle Peter's body, forced herself to get out of the bed as fast as humanly possible, and inspite of her hang over, raise the bed rooms shades so she could find her clothing. Get away she thought, get out and get away. But the little voices and Peter's kind nature kept interfering.

"Please just tell me what's wrong?"

_'There's nothing wrong with you, sweetie, there's something terribly wrong with her.'_

"Be quiet, both of you!" She groaned in frustration as she pulled on a pair of pants

"Both of who?"_ 'Exactly, it's just the two of you. So call Broyles, tell him you've got the flu and ride that pony all day long!'_

"STOP IT!"

Seeing her running around in such a blind panic was just making Peter more concerned, forcing Olivia to continue dodging him, "Stop what?"

"Nothing! I have to go." She felt the little voice scoff and sigh, _'Now? You've wanted this for weeks and suddenly you've got 'buyer's remorse'? Nice job, way to look high maintenance.'_

A sudden feeling of utter nausea washed over her as Peter (and the voices) started following her around the apartment while she searched for her missing panties. Memories surfaced one by one of the night before: broken tables, busted couches, the highly inappropriate use of FBI issue handcuffs...

_'Don't forget the blindfold, there was a blindfold.'_

Olivia needed to leave, she needed to leave this place as quickly as possible. Her legs pumped wildly and she found herself yelling out a polite goodbye without actually pausing for breath "ThankyouforalovelyeveningbutI'vegotanearlymeetingsoIhavetogodon'tworryI'llletmyselfout!"

The door slammed behind her as she stumbled half dressed into the hallway, leaving a perplexed Peter standing in the living room covered in a bed sheet.

"But…this is your apartment!"

* * *

The drive to the office was a nightmare, as was the two and a half hour meeting about division expense reports (She needed to have a long conversation with Walter about baboon seminal fluid). Now it was quitting time and Olivia desperately wanted to go home, to curl up inside her bed and forget the awful, awful mess she made of her life in less then forty eight hours.

But she couldn't go home because she was afraid Peter might still be there. Waiting. Or was an irrational fear, no different then a small child being afraid of a monster in the closet or a scary movie on TV. Nevertheless, she still couldn't start the car. She just couldn't go back there.

Maybe a hotel room? _'Sure, get a hotel room, order room service. Then call Peter, tell him to bring chocolate sauce, and screw him so hard they have to call the police to get you to stop.'_

Don't talk directly to it, she thought, talking directly to the voice in your head means you're crazy.

But it was so insistent and the little voice in her head just kept pushing and pushing._ 'Check your phone.'_

"No."

_'What happened to not talking to me?'_

"It never happened. You aren't real, I'm going to go on with my life like just like before." She was actually shouting at the voice now, shouting at the voices in her head. "I'm not getting involved with another male co-worker, not after John!"

_'So you're not involved with Peter?'_

"No…I mean yes!"

_'Check your phone.'_

There were seventeen missed calls…from Peter.

To Be Continued...


	3. Stage Two

**Stage Two- Anger (ex: How dare this happen! Who's to blame for this?")**

The new case wasn't nearly has much fun as giant shrimp or brain melting videogames but for Olivia Dunham it was a godsend.

Anything to get her mind off Peter.

A very sick person, possibly Jones or one of his lackeys, had created a gigantic monster and unleashed it on an unsuspecting city of Boston, creating what could only be described as a logistical nightmare for the FBI. How did you track a mindless creature that seemed to strike at random? The only way the knew how: release a few APBs, comb the streets, and eventually catch a lucky break.

So after half a week of tracking, the cornered creature roared then thundered down the alley towards Olivia. It's mouth yawning into a wide, gaping maw of teeth and rage. The beast had perhaps once been a dog, maybe a cat, or some sort of rabbit. After this much genetic manipulation it was hard to tell it's previous life because nothing about it looked familiar. This was the horror of the Pattern: ordinary things taken and twisted until they no longer resembled anything.

Just like Olivia's relationship with Peter. In the six days since she woke up next to him, nothing was familiar and it didn't resemble anything. Not love, not lust, just awkward anger and fear of discovery.

The beast tried desperately to get out of the narrow alley by running towards Olivia with all four clawed feet pounding the pavement. Somewhere inside the simple cluster of nerves it called a brain there was a memory of her face and scent from three days before. It could smell her blood pulsing under her skin which spurred it forward in pursuit of revenge.

But Olivia wasn't alone in her pursuit and the animal had barely taken two steps before a six man HRT fire team unleashed a storm of gunfire. She didn't need to join the fire line but for some reason she found herself reaching into her holster and unloading bullet after bullet. _'Shooting monsters isn't going to make you feel better.'_ The little voice said but she ignored it until her clip went dry.

There was no satisfaction when the beast finally fell, merely the same white hot rage and sickening self loathing that had been simmering inside her.

_'That feeling isn't going to go away until you start acting like a big girl.'_

* * *

"Your hunch was right, Boston PD picked up a David Westman at the airport about to make his escape," Broyles motioned towards the hideous corpse filled with FBI issue bullets, "He's says he'll tell us who he was working for but claims he didn't design the process that made…that."

"That's a little disturbing, it almost sounds like someone's selling 'Do-It-Yourself Monster' kits to anyone with a biology degree."

"Exactly, which is why I want you to get Bishop working on this as fast as possible, I need that thing analyzed."

She nodded, relishing the chance to lose herself in some work. "I'll talk to Walter."

"Wrong," Broyles voice snapped back at her with the sharpness he only reserved for the most dire emergencies, "You'll talk to Peter."

Olivia felt her stomach twist into a knot, then do a cartwheel. As if on purpose, Broyles had managed to say the one thing she didn't want to hear and turn it into an order. "I don't understand, Walter's the one with the PhD?"

"I need him to go over the notes we confiscated with Westman, maybe find a clue our forensic team might've missed."

"But Peter-" She was struggling in vain to get out of the trap Broyles was unwittingly laying for her.

"I don't understand why you're still standing there, Agent Dunham," He didn't bother to turn around as he issued his parting rebuke, "Because this conversation is finished."

* * *

On the other side of the crime scene, Peter could do nothing but watch Olivia struggling through her job as if nothing had ever happened between them. It was frustrating to watch her just wash the memory of their night together right out her hair and it took almost no effort to get through the daily , he was stuck mooning over her like some kind of lovesick fifteen year old.

Peter felt himself releasing a heavy sigh and when he turned around he came face to face with his father's vacant stare. "You should tell her." There was firmness in Walter's voice that implied this wasn't just another erratic episode, Walter was actually trying to act like a father for once.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Walter."

"You should tell Olivia how you feel."

He tried to laugh that off and tried to pretend it was just Walter being Walter but the laugh felt hollow and it didn't reach his eyes. "Okay, Walter," Peter said, "I'll be sure to tell her I feel like pizza for lunch."

But Walter shook his head, not fooled by his son's off hand denials. "That's not what I mean. You should tell her how much you love her."

Peter's breath caught in his throat. What did Walter know? "You're hallucenating, I'm gonna go get Astrid..."

"You need to tell her…"

"…maybe tell her to bring some thorazine."

"…don't do what I did with your mother."

The word 'mother' made caught Peter's attention. It was the way he said the word that brought so much concern, it almost sounded lucid. "What about my mother?"

Walter smiled again and spoke as if from a thousand miles away. "I never told her I loved her enough."

It was a little strange, having a bonding experience with a father he barely knew but Peter couldn't help but enjoy the feeling and wanted to savor it before Walter's fog rolled in. Some how, deep inside a memory made of Swiss cheese, there was still a little fatherly wisdom left to share. So they both just let the silence grow and drew a little strength from their very weak common bond.

Walter was the one who finally break the moment, as he turned to his son with a look of purpose and meaning. "Peter?"

"Yes Walter?"

"I just want to say…"

"Yes Walter?"

"….I need to use the bathroom but I can't seem to remember how."

* * *

The lab felt like a powder keg to Olivia. Peter kept staring at her, implying things to her, shooting innuendoes at her when Walter or Astrid weren't paying attention. And the little voices in her head. The naughty, wicked voices constantly egging her on to do things, say things. Every minute next to him was driving her mad.

"These notes are very distressing." Walter said as he removed yet another gibberish covered page from the small manila envelope Broyles have given him, "And the handwriting is terrible…has this person suffered a stroke?"

"Just tell me what it means, Walter."

"It means," Peter said as he slide up beside her, "That the creatures these people created are just a dry run for human subjects. Maybe even something on a large scale."

She tried to ignore the warm scent of Peter's breath as he stood scandelously close to her but certain parts of her body knew he was there…and responded.

"Didn't realize it was cold in here." Peter whispered as he ran a stray thumb across the small of her back. Olivia turned red when she saw what he was talking about: two small points had risen from the tips of her breasts, visible even through the thick material of her blouse.

_'Lean closer, let him touch you.'_ Quiet!

"May I speak to you outside, Mr. Bishop?"_ 'Mr. Bishop? Are we playing out one of those teacher/student fantasies? Will you spank him with a ruler? Maybe give him detention?'_

She pushed the voice away and walked into the narrow hallway of the basement. The quarters were close and the air seemed charged with an electric current. He was so close, too close. It was going to make this so much harder.

* * *

"You wanted to talk to me?" Peter whispered, that roguish smile planted firmly on his face. _'Give him something to really smile about.'_ More foolishness from the voice in her head, and she still ignored it. This was going to hurt but it needed to happen. It would put them back on even ground.

"Do you think this is a game, Mr. Bishop?" Her tone was like a slap across the face and she watched Peter recoil almost in pain.

"I don't….Look, Olivia, I'm sorry, it's just that ever since our night togeth-"

"Nothing happened, Mr. Bishop." _'What are you doing?'_

"But-"

"Stop it! Just stop it! I refuse to let one stupid, regrettable night ruin a life time of hard work and dedication." _'Stop, please, you're going to hate yourself for this.'_

"Olivia-"

"I'm not finished!" This wasn't Olivia, this wasn't the voice in her head, this was a cold calculating FBI agent covering up a bad call, "I barely remember 'our night together' and based on your behavior I'm glad I don't! We got drunk, you obviously took advantage of me." _'YOU KISSED HIM FIRST MORON!'_

She watched as Peter's face turned into a pain filled mask. Every sharp word landed right in his gut and seemed to sting like a knife. His eyes met hers, locked in a hateful stare. When he finally spoke, it was with a voice that seemd both soft and hurt, yet hard and angry. "That was the most beautiful night of my life."

_'Stop! STOP!'_ "Really? Like I said it wasn't that memorable for me."

And then she walked away, listening as the voice of her desire on the verge of tears: _'Oh, Liv, Liv...what did you do?'_

To Be Continued...

(Says angst...right there in the category.)


	4. Stage Three

**Stage Three- Bargaining (ex: "I'll give anything to keep this from happening!")**

Dr. David Westman had broken rather easily compared to the other 'Tailors' (the unofficial office nickname for Pattern criminals) and something told Olivia that this man, probably didn't know that much about their mysterious 'Monster Maker'. Still the fact that he was talking was a promising sign.

He just wasn't talking enough.

"Look, we've got you." Olivia said as she started droppng photo after photo on the table in front of Westman, "Felony murder, possession of illegal narcotics, experimentation with out FDA approval, resisting arrest," She paused as she came to the photo of Westman's vehicle pulling into the airport parking lot, waving the image under his nose, "Shit, if I felt like it I could even charge you for the expired tags on your fucking Saturn." She growled out her next words, making sure that she was as close to breaking the 'no touching' rule as she could while maintaining the needed authority. "Let me help you, Westman, tell me something I can use."

Questioning a suspect was like performing a high wire act without a net. Applying too many threats of jail could cause the subject to rebel and close his mouth, getting too friendly could cause you to lose the subject's respect and make the interview spin wildly out of control. The key was to find just that one single point of pressure and strike hard, over and over again.

For Westman, that point was jail and for Olivia, the cracks in Westman only got wider with every swing of the hammer. "I told you! I don't know him, I never saw him before! He offered me money…and I said yes!" Westman was hardly a career criminal, four years as a professor of biology and six more as a bio-chemist made him almost a transparent liar. If there was ever a weak link in the Pattern, this was it.

"That's a lie, David, I know you're lying."

Beads of sweat formed on Westman's forehead and Olivia could see him arriving at the cross road: The point where fear of reprisal by another criminal was less scary then fear of life in prison. "N-no jail."

"Maybe."

"I want to be protected."

She shrugged, letting the pressure grow."Perhaps."

Westman stared at Olivia, unsure of what her motives were. One minute she was dangling help and safety, the next she was shutting the door in his face and yelling at the top of her lungs. His throat went dry. "He said his name was Mr. Jones…"

* * *

Olivia Dunham walked into the outer office to a thunderous applause. Every agent in the building, including Broyles was clapping and cheering. She felt the pleasant sting of a 'boys club' back slap from Charlie. It was a wonderful moment, a good feeling. For the first time they had someone inside the Pattern willing to spill his guts about everyone and anyone connected to Fringe science.

There was more clapping, more 'Atta girl!' handshakes, more smiling faces, then a single frown brought it all crashing down for her. Because the only person in the room who wasn't cheering or clapping or smiling was Peter Bishop.

_'Biggest professional victory of your career and you're upset because you yelled at the cute boy.'_ The voices almost sounded pouty, _'Fix this stupid.'_

For once she agreed.

* * *

"Turn left here." The car ride back to Peter's new apartment was excruciating. She didn't know why she offered, he wasn't sure why he accepted. For six miles the most either of them said involved which exit she needed to take and which way the detour sign was pointing. It threatened to stay that way if Olivia hadn't pulled over to the side of the road to finally get some sort of resolution out of him.

"Talk to me."

But he ignored her, turning to look out the car window. Tiny rain drops were beating down on all sides of the car and soon the light drizzle from the afternoon would become a late evening thunderstorm.

"Please."

"No." He crossed his arms like a child and she had this image of her niece pouting because they sent her to bed early.

_'Kiss him, make it all better.'_ Another little voice, another wicked suggestion and she had to remind herself that this was what going insane felt like. "Peter…" Still no reaction, he just kept watching the world pass by the passenger side window.

"I apologize." She took a deep breath, "I over reacted and I'm sorry."

Nothing, it was like having a conversation with the steering column. He was acting like she wasn't even here and part of her didn't blame him. _'You broke his heart, Liv.'_ The little voices were nastier these days, getting angrier every day._ 'You hurt him…badly. Fix this before you go as crazy as Walter.'_

"I want to go back to the way things used to be, Peter." She saw him tense up, his shoulders rising and the cords in his neck tightening, "Please, Peter, I just want to be your friend-" That earned her a hard look. A fuming, rage filled stare.

"My friend?" His voice was barely above a snarl, "Fuck you!"

_'Yes, please.'_ Be quiet.

Olivia was trying so hard to keep her own feelings in check that she'd forgotten about his. She saw him pull back on the anger, fighting desperately for control and she sympathized with him. Peter didn't know how to feel and it was drivng him crazy. "Peter…"

"Don't." His arms flew up in front of him, as if he was defending from some sort of invisible attack, "Just don't! I can't even look at you right now, let alone hear anymore of this patronizing bullshit."

_'You don't have to look at her, just bend her over the hood of this car and start tearing the first article of clothing you can find!'_ Stop it.

Olivia saw the beginning of tears in Peter's eyes and knew just how hard this was for him, he wanted to hit something and yell and scream and bang his head against the wall. But he was so sad, so depressed that he couldn't muster the strength anymore. He hated her.

_'You ever had hate sex? It's amazing! You haven't lived till you've given a guy two black eyes during a good roll in the hay.'_ Olivia could feel her body reacting to that thought, a soft warming sensation she easily recognized as latent desire. With that realization came nausea and self loathing, because the idea that making Peter cry could be arousing made her very ill.

"I don't want to be your friend anymore, Olivia." He whispered and she felt something inside of her crack into a thousand didn't want to cry in front of him and didn't want him to see her upset, so she let a practiced mask of Marine level professionalism.

"I understand."

Then she put the car in drive and hit the accelerator.

To be continued...


	5. Stage Four

(Um…that was weird. I wrote a subplot about a monster and then holy shit…there's an episode about a monster! Are they reading my mind? Is that how Abrhams does it? Uses a giant mind reading machine that saps the collective knowledge of the internet to come up with plot? Just watch, I'm betting that's next week's episode!)

**Stage Four- Depression (ex: "What's the point anymore? I just don't care.")**

Olivia reached into the bowl as Kiera Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen locked lips on her television screen. "Don't do it Elizabeth," She muttered bitterly while stuffing a gigantic handful of popcorn into her mouth, "He'll just screw up your life, that's all they're good at."

This was hour sixteen of the _Olivia Dunham Sick Day Sulk-a-thon_, where harcore former Marines dealt with feelings they didn't dare to understand using a rigerous process of emotional readjustment.

The process was fairly straight forward: she woke up, called in sick, rented every romantic movie/tv show she could get her hands on, then the final step of eating junk food until she fell asleep. This was her oldest method of dealing with pain. She used it over and over again during the dark days of high school, once or twice during college, and totally abandoned it during her Marine deployment when she started to lose her self in her work whenever the world got her down. But this pain was a little bit more intense and drove her to fall back to the comfortable darkness of an old crutch.

And it was working. Sure It was touch and go during the first half hour of '_Love, Actually'_, with open moaning and bawling. Things got better during the_ 'English Paitent'_ and _'Love Story'_ when she was lightly sobbing into a bowl of ice cream on the couch.

By now she was all cried out and had resorted to making snide comments every time Darcy and Bennett shared a smoldering glance across the room.

_"I do believe I love you Mr. Darcy!"_

"BOOOO!"

It was easier for her to hate Peter instead of hating herself, and it was far easier to say that all men were scum when she knew this entire situation was her fault. _'Marines don't make mistakes, right Liv?'_

"That's right." Talking to the voices again, pathetic.

_'You were perfectly in the right for tearing out that poor man's heart.'_

"That's a little unfair."

_'No, you freaked out because this is the second time in a row you got involved with a co-worker and you decided to punish Peter.'_

"That's not at all how it happened."

_'Then why is it driving you crazy?'_

"It isn't driving me anything."

From the inside of her mind, she heard the soft chuckle of her inner monologue and she suddenly felt very hollow and sad.

_'Olivia, you're sitting alone in your apartment watching love stories and talking to the imaginary voices in your head.'_

* * *

"Evil bitch." Peter whispered just as James Bond landed a knock out punch on Red Grant and saved the world from the evils of SPECTER, "I'm done with her, done with this stupid town, done with Walter…everything." Some time around the second half hour of _'Die Hard'_ and the first ten minutes of _'Lethal Weapon'_ decided the time had come to just leave. Pack his bags, get into the car and scam his way into a job inside a nice tropical tax shelter.

But that wouldn't solve his other very upsetting problem: Peter was hearing voices. Ever since he first heard about her 'birthday card', he had started imagining what a life with Olivia might be like. The suggestions were small at first, then larger and larger as time went on, until they became almost unavoidable.

_'Forgive her.'_

"No."

_'Just call her, please? You love her, you know you do.'_

This was how it usually went with the voices. It was never about lust or hunger, the thoughts were innocent and sad. A yearning voice that spoke poetically about romance and love. The crazy thing was, after everything he'd just gone through that voice still sounded reasonable.

"Not after what she put me through."

_'You love her.'_

"Not enough."

_'More then enough.'_

He sighed because he agreed.

* * *

The knock on Olivia's door just barely roused her from the two hour power nap and she contemplated not answering the door at all. "Who is it?"

The flat, terse voice of Philip Broyles returned her quere, "I need to speak with you."

Even off duty Broyles sounded like an audio version of the FBI Guide to Procedures and Statutes. As she rose from the couch to open the door, Olivia got this image of 10 year old Philip Broyles patrolling his elementary school as the world's most efficient hall monitor. Then she took a moment to arrange herself and opened the door.

"May I come in?" He was standing in the hallway, still soaking wet from the light rain that fell all day yesterday and into this morning. In fact the rain had not ceased since the night she argued with Peter.

"May I come in?" Broyles said again and she snapped back to reality.

"Yes, of course." She stepped inside and ignored the twinge of embarrassment as they stepped past a pile of empty ice cream containers and cookie wrappers. First time the boss sees the apartment and it looked like a broken heart club support group, "Is there something wrong?"

"I was going to ask you the same question."

Olivia's breath froze in her lungs and she felt an electric current running through her nerves, "I beg your pardon?"

"Lately," Broyles said as he walked over to the table and settled into a chair without asking, "You've been distracted, not focused."

'Congrats, Liv, even the big scary black man's noticed.' Said the voices, _'Just go talk to Peter before you're in a looney bin!'_

"No." She whsipered out loud and she saw Broyles' head tilted in confusion. 'Smooth, Liv.', "What I mean is that I'm dealing with a personal problem." Olivia winced as she predicted Broyles' harsh, macho response but the older man threw her something of a curveball.

"I'm sorry to hear that...do you need any time off?"

"I...no. No, I think I can deal with it on my own."

An odd, almost fatherly expression flashed on Broyles' face and for a moment Olivia wondered if he was going to try and hug her. "I've seen a lot of good agents get swallowed up by this job and I'd hate for you to become one of them."

"I...appreciate the concern."

"No, you're shocked I didn't tell you to suck it up." And she watched a wry smile spread across Broyles' chin. In all the time she'd known him, which was the first time she recalled him doing anything other than frown. "You're surprised I'm not a slave driver off the job as well."

She smiled and return and settled down on the opposite side of the table, cautiously appreciating the hidden depths to the man she respected. "Yes, actually I am." She said, "The work we do is important, personal feelings would just-"

"Keep you sane." His voice was flat and authoritative, socking Olivia right in the preconceptions. "We're fighting for a better world, Olivia, a safer and saner existence for the people of this nation. If I actually sat here and said 'don't have a personal life' I'd be doing you a disservice...and I'd be a liar."

"You don't think I should focus on your job?"

"Focus is fine, but not at the expense of your humanity." His eyes were scanning the room in search of some kind of liquid refreshment and then found it in the form of a bottle of water, "You're a human being with human needs. Embracing that makes you a better agent."

She sighed and her shoulders slumped as if all the air in her body was disappearing. This was the kind of talk she could've used a couple of days ago. "When John died-"

"John is dead." Her eyes met his and he defiantly held her gaze, as if to accept his answer for gospel, "I learned after my wife died that if you don't learn to move on you'll wish you're just as dead. Life goes on Liv, in whatever form it chooses." Broyles took a sip of water and admired the cool taste as it went down his lips, then smiled absently, "So what's the name of this personal problem? Anyone I know?"

But Olivia didn't hear him. She was already getting her hat and coat.

TBC


	6. Stage Five

A/N- Sorry for the wait, I needed to clear my head before I wrote this. I wanted it to be sweet but not sappy. There's an obvious references to all the nice folks who reviewed in there. LOL

**Stage Five- Acceptance **

Olivia had been staring at the door for nearly a quarter of an hour…just staring. She knew that if she wanted to talk to Peter, she was probably going to have to actually open her mouth and speak something that resembled English in the next few minutes. Words would be nice but sounds and grunts might do as well. Generally any vocalization at all was going to be acceptable at this point.

But before she tried to speak, maybe it would be better to try and tackle knocking first. Maybe it would be a better idea to actually raise her hand to the door and tap away.

She waited as she sent the signal along her nervous system to the muscles in her arm. Knock on the door, the nerves seemed to say, but the arm didn't listen and she was stuck standing in the hallway staring at the door.

'Get it over with.' That was what the voices said, no snark, no sarcasm, just flat honesty. She raised one trembling hand to the center of the door…

Her knuckles never even touched the heavy particle wood of the door before the knob turned and the door was thrown wide open. It was Peter, standing there in his boxers and squinting into the brightly lit hallway.

"Peter…we need to talk."

He slammed the door in her face.

If had happened to anyone else, Olivia would've laughed. It was like a skit on a 70s variety hour 'Hi Olivia, bye Olivia. Wakka-wakka.'

But it wasn't funny; Peter was so hurt that he couldn't even look at her anymore. There had been so much pain in his eyes when he opened that door and the sight of him almost broke her heart. Olivia knew she had to make this right; she had to tell him how she felt.

"Peter, open the door."

More deafening quiet. More terrible anticipation. Olivia's breath caught in her throat and she started to wonder if this door was going to be closed forever…in every sense of the word.

"Peter-"

"It's unlocked." He said finally and she could almost feel the anguish through the door.

'Go inside.' Said the little voices, 'Go inside and put it to an end.' But she still couldn't do it. Her legs were just as tied up as her arm had been. It was torturous. "I don't think it would be appropriate for me to be in there, Peter." She said with a heavy sigh, "Please just come out here."

More silence. This was ridiculous, if she couldn't go inside and he couldn't come out, what was she supposed to do now? Talk through the door? For a brief moment the fire of determination spread in the pit of Olivia's stomach as she forced the right words to leave her throat.

"Peter, I know you're upset with me, I know you're feeling hurt but I just…" 'No, don't start like that, that's stupid. Do it again.' "…Peter…I want things to be normal between us-"

The door opened and on the other side she saw Peter's bloodshot eyes. "Didn't you hear a word I said in the car?" He sounded so weak and defeated and the guilt twisted in Olivia's stomach. "Didn't you listen to me? I don't want things to be normal again; I don't want to be your fucking friend." She raised a hand to pat him on the shoulder but he backed away as if burned by her touch.

"Peter, please."

" No! No! Listen to me; I'm in love with you Olivia." He enunciated the words as if speaking to a small child, "I. Love. You! No one else, you!"

And suddenly she remembered what had put her in this place. Years of surviving alone, meeting John, getting hurt, meeting Peter, Rinse and repeat from step one. But was that all it would ever be to her? An endless cycle of disappointment? 'Take a leap.' The voices said and she felt just a piece of her armor crack. 'Break the cycle.'

But Olivia's version of 'leaping' wasn't very romantic, she laid out carefully chosen words with military precision, wincing as she realized how stupid it all must've sounded. "I've accepted that you care for me, Peter." And he met that with an ugly scoff.

An ugly sneer crossed his face. "You've 'accepted' that I care for you? Jesus Christ."

"This isn't easy for me Peter, I've had to adjust-"

He scowled and she could hear bile and pain between horse whispers. "Is that what you're calling it? Adjust?" Peter's scowl was like a stab in the heart and she felt herself almost sink to the floor. "I can't…I don't want to get hurt again. Just go away"

The sound of the door closing almost felt like a gunshot but she pressed on.

"Open the door, Peter."

Again it was just ugly silence on the other side. Olivia wanted to run, to walk away from this growing hurt but the voices were screaming at her now, begging and pleading to bring this to some sort of satisfying ending. She reached out and turned the doorknob.

The apartment smelled of day old microwave popcorn and booze, dirty laundry was spread across the floor as Olivia lightly step inside Peter's dimly lit living space. "Peter?"

He was on the couch, drinking heavily doing his best to ignore her.

"Peter, look at me." He kept his eye on the television where Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer were busy facing down the Clantons at the O.K. Corral, "Fine. If you won't talk and won't look at me then you're going to listen."

She needed a deep breath before letting her hear pour open, a quick intake of air before the plunge. Suddenly she was up and running, speaking like never before. "This is scary for me, you have to understand that. Most of the relationships in my life were with a very different kind of man and I'm sorry if I didn't recognize how much I hurt you." The more she spoke the easier it was and soon Olivia was sitting on the couch beside him, getting very close to him, "You love me Peter and that's a good feeling, I want to feel that way too but I'm afraid of what would happen. I'm afraid that things were going to turn out just like John."

His shoulders tightened and she knew that she was hitting on some very tough points. This wasn't helping. "Peter, I don't know what happened between us but I also don't want to be scared anymore. I'd like us to be…"Peter still wasn't looking at her. She was pouring out her heart and it wasn't doing a thing. Maybe it was too late? Maybe the ship had sailed?

With nothing left to say, Olivia Dunham got off the couch and started walking towards the door, wordlessly pulling herself out of his life forever. When the door shuts, she thought, you should just leave him alone.

"I know a place to get the world's best cheese steaks." He said and Olivia stopped walking, "Maybe…"

"I'd like that." Olivia turned back to him, smiling, "But I'm not really a cheesesteak person."

"Olivia…" His voice was thick with desire, and she wondered if that was normal? Was it right for two people to go from hating each other, hating themselves, and then wanting one other in the course a few minutes?

She raised her hand to quiet him. "Let's just stick to cheesesteaks this time, and maybe see where it goes." And he laughed in a horse but pleasing sound, "and no bets this time." Olivia whispered.

He crossed his heart, "No bets."

"I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes."

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion, "A few minutes?"

Olivia flashed just the ghost of a smile before turning around. "Peter…you need a shower."

Then she was out the door and down the hallway. As the car's heater warmed up and the engine revved to life, she found herself relieved that there were no more little voices, no more quiet urgings. Just the sweet safety of her own conscious mind.

But five minutes later when Peter rushed across the parking lot with damp air and a hastily thrown together outfit, Olivia heard just the tiniest parting shot as the voices faded into the background:

'That's a missed opportunity, Liv. You could've saved so much water if you just showered with him.'

The End


End file.
